Duality
by BeeAtina
Summary: There's a new Death Eater. He's young, skilled, deadly, and oddly familiar. Harry's search for Horcruxes success or failure? Who's the new headmaster? A continuation of the series a fanfic of how the seventh book could be.


**Prologue**

The young man made his way past the overgrown weeds, his cap pulled rather low down his brow. His eyes and hair were carefully hidden, replaced by the shadow cast by the cap. His instructions had been clear. _No one can recognize you._ Somewhere overhead, an owl screeched as it swooped down on its prey. The man couldn't help but shiver. It seemed fitting, somehow.

He struggled past a sticky mud patch. _Not far now,_ he assured himself. Already, he could see the broken down, abandoned building sitting on the hilltop. It loomed over the field, its shadows like claws stretching out, searching for prey. If ever there had been a chance to turn back, it was gone now.

The young man headed up the hill, tugging his overcoat tighter over his lanky frame. It was cold. As he reached the porch of the abandoned house, he halted, looking up at it. The wood was black and rotting, the windows so filthy that they could have probably been the sole supplier of Dungbomb ingredients. The man stepped up onto the porch and hesitantly reached for the doorknob.

_Stop._

"Argh!" the man yelled, his hands flying to cover his ears as the hideous voice spoke in his head. The voice… it was high, unbearably so, yet, so low that his ears had to notch down to catch it. It screamed, yet spoke in a whisper so soft he could barely hear. It was painful.

His head throbbing, the man struggled to his feet. He couldn't think, the surreal voice still echoing in his mind. His world tilted and he reached out for a windowsill – for anything that would keep him from falling. This was yet another test, he knew. Bracing himself, he reached for the doorknob again.

_Stop!_

He ignored the command, grasping the door. A sharp pain jolted up his arm; hot, burning pain that scalded every cell in his arm before it spread to smother his entire body. His mouth parted, about to scream, but the pain was so incredible that he could only bite his lip. A drop of blood ran down from his lip, but he couldn't bring himself to stop biting.

Finally, the pain stopped. The man stood, panting, sweat running down his face. His fingers were still firmly grasping the doorknob. After allowing himself a few moments to collect his wits, he reluctantly twisted the knob and pulled open the door. Inside, he could see a fireplace, the fire crackling and illuminating the armchair - which had its back faced to him - and the hooded figures gathered round the hearth.

"Come in," a voice issued from the armchair; cold and forbidding. The man obeyed, closing the door behind him and stepping towards the gathering. His heart thumped loudly, but he forced himself to calm down. He did not get this far only to be rejected.

"My dear wizard," the cold voice began as the man stepped even closer. "You have come far. Every test you have passed, every hurdle cleared and every obstacle," the voice continued, as a ripple went through the hooded men, "you have destroyed."

The man reached the circle of hooded men, where they had left a space for him. He knelt and waited for the voice to continue. "Your challenges were undoubtedly more difficult to complete than the norm, I realize. That is because of," the voice paused, "who you are." This time, the hooded men exchanged quiet murmurs. Just who _was_ this stranger?

"You are accepted."

At those three words, the man bowed his head, a smile crossing his features. "Thank you, Master," he said quietly. The men seemed to draw a breath as one, surprised. He sounded incredibly youthful. Their curiosity strengthened. "You have your Mark," the voice said, a hint of amusement in its tone. The man rolled up his sleeve and checked. The skull was there. "Thank you, Master," he repeated.

"Now, stand up, boy. Take off your hat and show the rest who you are, before you accept your cloak and mask."

The man – or boy, more like – stood and stepped to the middle of the circle. There was a moment's suspense, as the Death Eaters held their breaths, each wondering who it could be, and each forming their own guesses. The boy reached up to grasp the cap, and, after a moment's hesitation, tugged it off.

There were cries of surprise, and even some who staggered backwards in shock. The boy smiled widely, blue eyes glimmering from a mop of messy, vivid red hair.

"'Evening, fellows."


End file.
